Page 32

LYSANDER

N ot Ezra!

My wings snap open. Sizzling energy roars to life in my blood, pure protective fury, and the two azeroths hesitate.

“Don’t touch him!”

I’m shaking, wings slamming hard enough to spin up dust, my hands curled into fists.

A ripping noise tears through the air and a guttural hiss surrounds us — it’s coming from me.

Ezra makes a choked noise behind me. The azeroths waver.

Even the two riiga step back. I catch sight of my own hands and see my nails lengthening into claws, wicked spikes bursting like thorns from my knuckles, and understanding dawns.

It’s my ur-form.

There’s no time to process what’s happening.

The nearest azeroth bursts out of its trance and rushes at me.

In a daze, I see my own body recoil from the danger like a coward, as if I’m outside myself.

The azeroth staggers past me in a jerking mockery of a run.

Something flashes in the corner of my eye.

Ezra’s boots grind the gravel. In his hand is a knife — a plain, mundane, human blade.

Heart in my mouth, I spin, no thought to what I might do, only the fierce desire to protect him.

A brilliant blue light streaks past me. The azeroth releases a guttural howl and is thrown backward onto the rocks. The streak resolves into a spear that pins the creature to the ground. I choke on my own breath, tripping backward as my lungs deflate to pinpricks and my heart gallops.

The azeroth’s hideous face twists and melts and reforms in a patchwork of all the monsters whose magic it’s stolen. Thin, reedy cries burst from it as it writhes. The second azeroth flees into the dusk.

Hands grasp my arms, and I jerk. Ezra’s knife clatters to the ground.

“Are you okay?” he asks roughly.

I tear my eyes away from the azeroth’s death throes to meet Ezra’s piercing gaze. There’s confusion and fear in his eyes. “What’s going on, Lysander?”

“I—I—” I can’t form the words.

“Ann!” Daphne gasps.

The youngest riiga, Belle, breaks away and rushes to her newly arrived sister. Ann is tall and thin, wearing a severe black turtleneck and skirt and carrying a second spear strapped to her back. She grabs her sister and yanks her close protectively.

My legs shake with adrenaline. Ezra’s firm arms are all that’s holding me upright, until I remember I’m covered in thorny protrusions and I look down at him in a panic.

I’m taller than him now .

“S-spikes,” I hiss.

Ezra grips me tighter. “It’s fine, baby,” he growls.

“Fairy. You must return to the shadow dryad’s territory,” Ann says sharply, her eyes snapping to us.

“You saved us,” I try to say, but the words come out dark and threatening, not grateful at all. Everything is muddled — my heart thumps unevenly, my thoughts are foggy.

My body wants to attack, to rip and kill and eliminate the threat to what’s mine. But I failed. I shied away from it. I couldn’t protect — instead Ezra was the one protecting me , and my fury swirls uselessly.

“You’re lucky I was here. Now go, before they come back! The sun is setting.”

I gather the dregs of my wits as Ann strides forward. “Did you s-see her? Elsabeth. My sister.”

“I saw her. I will see her again.” She yanks the spear free of the azeroth’s now desiccated corpse.

It crumbles into a pile of dark, dry matter, and she wipes the tip with a cloth that she folds carefully and tucks away.

Her hands glisten with a mystery substance.

“I will make her a special brew. One that can kill the azeroths just like this.”

“Witchcraft.” My sluggish thoughts coalesce around that word.

“You need witches to outsmart witches,” Ann says grimly. “Go, fairy! You’re endangering us all with your presence.”

“Let’s go, Lys.” Ezra’s hand at my elbow draws me away.

I can’t get my ur-form to go away.

Ezra keeps one hand on my leg the entire drive back to The Sanctum.

It calms my tumultuous emotions, but I’m too afraid of my own harsh, rasping voice to say so.

Still, it doesn’t make the thorns melt away or my razor-sharp teeth retract.

My body feels wrong , like it doesn’t belong to me.

Every noise assaults my ears at ten times the normal level.

My skin is too tight, the rough fabric of Ezra’s truck seat scraping it uncomfortably.

I can feel my blood pulsing rapidly from my heart out to every individual capillary, sending blue shimmers down my arms and making my head pound.

Worst of all, my beautiful clothes are in shreds and Ezra’s truck seat is covered in claw marks. I can’t figure out how to get out without causing more damage. A frustrated noise scrapes my throat.

Ezra reaches for me and I freeze, terrified of leaving claw marks on him.

“You’re okay, baby,” he murmurs, his hands warm and gentle around me. “Let’s get you inside.”

I choke, swallowing back tears. Isn’t he afraid of me? Doesn’t he think I’m horrific — ugly, even? But he doesn’t pull away.

“Take him to Syril’s office,” Orion says right away. I don’t see his expression, too busy hiding my face in shame.

A few moments later, Orion appears again to grab Ezra’s arm and tug him out of the office.

Ezra looks back at me like he wants to stay, but he follows Orion out.

I clench my hands over my knees and sink into the feeling of my own thorns digging into my skin.

More waves of blue rush up and down my skin.

There were times I longed for the ability to manifest my ur-form at will. When my sister started training as a warrior. When the azeroths came. But now that I’ve summoned that part of me, it hasn’t magically turned me into someone stronger and braver.

And I can’t stop seeing the fear in Ezra’s eyes. How could he want me now?

The door opens and I flinch. Syril glides in, a somber expression carved into their face.

“Are you hurt?” Syril asks right away.

I look down. “No.”

“Did you touch the riiga’s arrow?”

“It flew wide of me.” It all happened so fast.

“Good.” Syril’s sigh of relief is loud. “Ann’s neutralizer is no joke. You’re not an azeroth, but fairies are nearly as full of magic. It would have been a nasty shock to your system.”

I shudder.

“Did you find anything?” Syril pries.

“No,” I admit, ashamed.

They shake their head. “I didn’t expect you would. Elsabeth wants you safe, not out there getting into trouble.”

The rebuke stings. “Why can’t I turn back?” I blurt, digging my claws into the leather couch accidentally. I wince and put my hands in my lap, but Syril doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m not an expert, but an ur-form is usually triggered when you’re in extreme danger.” Syril’s piercing gaze makes me want to hide. “Or someone you care for very much is. Your body may think the danger is still present.”

“What do I do now?”

“Here.” Syril takes a vial down from the shelf and puts it on the couch next to me. “Drink this. And try to calm yourself. It will go away eventually.”

I drink the vial and escape to my room upstairs.

The drink eases my spinning mind, but I can’t find calm — every time I close my eyes, I see the azeroths advancing.

The flash of Ezra’s little blade. I was a fool.

A selfish fool. I put him in danger. How can he want anything to do with me after this?

I curl my hands around my knees. Long, smooth green thorns emerge from my knee bone, my skin fusing seamlessly into them. Like a dragon’s horns, they’re hard and hollow. Inbuilt armor for the warriors of eras past. The Sanctum is safe, I repeat over and over in my head. Safe.

At least I know Elsabeth is alive.

I lean back into the headboard, ignoring the horrible scraping of my spikes against the wood.

My skin tingles in strange places, like it’s brand new.

Even the softness of the sheets is intense.

I swear I can almost feel the grain of the wood on my back.

Even the details of my room are sharper to my eyes, from the tiny lace flowers on the curtain to the cobweb in the highest corner away from the lamp.

An ur-form is a deep, ancient expression of a monster’s magic. I feel… primal. Now that my mind has stopped racing, other, stranger things rise to the surface, surging in waves.

I want… I need…

But words slip away, turning to shapeless thoughts. I hiss in frustration and grip my knees tighter. The thorns dig into my tough skin.

Deep down, I know what it is. My ur-form is unfulfilled. I manifested it to protect Ezra and I failed miserably, and so it won’t go away.

A knock on the door startles me and I jump, then groan when I realize I’ve gouged the bed-frame. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” comes the familiar deep voice, and my stomach clenches. I don’t want Ezra to see me like this again.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

Pathetically, I’m not strong enough to resist.

“It’s open,” I tell him.

He hesitates in the doorway. “I thought I should check in on you. Are you doing okay?”

“I should be the one asking you.” I finally meet his gaze. His eyes are full of concern — not fear or disgust. “You didn’t ask to be involved in this.”

Ezra shuts the door behind himself. “Uh, I distinctly remember saying I’d take you to the river. I also remember saying I can take care of myself. After what happened, I’m glad I was there.”

He sits on the bed. I pull my feet up, self-conscious of the claws I’ve sprouted. But Ezra takes hold of my ankle and rubs his thumb over the rough skin.

“So what did happen out there?” he asks gently.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “This is my ur-form. All monsters have one. It’s a primal form, connected to the old ways, and it’s meant to protect us… and those we care about. Only mine is ugly and clumsy. Even though I’m covered in poison thorns, I’m not any more of a warrior than I’ve ever been.”

My mouth twists into an unhappy shape. Be afraid of me. Be angry. If he doesn’t do something unkind now, I won’t be able to stop myself from falling for him completely.

“I don’t think you’re ugly like this at all,” he murmurs.